


Ice Cold

by Themistoklis



Category: Hidden Legacy Series - Ilona Andrews
Genre: Case Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themistoklis/pseuds/Themistoklis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she returned his call, Nevada asked: "What exactly do you want me to do that's worth ten thousand dollars?" Later, she realized she should've asked a lot more before agreeing to work with Rogan again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laughing_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Phoenix/gifts).



> Inspired by the prompt, "What happens if … parents from two different Houses get divorced and it becomes a question of custody?" 
> 
> Happy Yuletide, Laughing_Phoenix.

Nevada turned her face into the mattress when her phone rang. She hadn't even been in bed long enough for the chill in her limbs to fade. The phone buzzed, and she let out a breath that barely warmed her lips. The tiny _plink, plink_ of icy rain tapping at the roof was still going. What was that, four hours now? The phone rang again. If she ignored it, the call would go to voicemail in a moment.

It was tempting.

Reluctantly, she wriggled one arm out from under the covers and fumbled for the phone. She pulled it under the blanket with her. Her mouth was dry when she answered. "Hello?"

"Nevada," Mad Rogan said.

She hung up.

The phone rang again almost immediately. When she twisted her head for a better look at the screen, his name was there. She hadn't imagined his voice. Before the phone could buzz again, she swiped to ignore the call and switched the whole damn thing to silent. The screen was dark for a heartbeat before lighting up again. She squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed harder against the bed, willing her cocoon of covers to warm up already.

After a minute the phone went dark and stayed that way. Nevada pulled her knees up a little and stared at the wall in the dark. It had been dark since noon. The blinds were still missing from her bedroom window - she would get around to putting them back up at some point - but even though she could hear ice clink against the glass, she couldn't see it. She didn't want to think about what the driveway and roads might look like. Houston just didn't own the equipment to deal with an ice storm like this, especially not one that had blown in from nowhere to welcome the first week of September. Even the kinds of cars Grandma Frida worked on would have trouble in this weather.

It was terrible, really. The news had been covering accidents since the murky gray clouds opened up around lunch time. It was terrible. Nevada was definitely not even a tiny bit happy that Rogan would have just the same trouble driving and almost certainly wouldn't be able to show up at the house until the storm finished and it warmed back up enough to melt all the ice.

There was a knock at the bedroom door then, sudden and so much louder than the steady background hum of the storm that she jerked upright. "What?" she blurted.

The door creaked open and her cousin, Bern, stuck his head in. It was nearly midnight but he didn't look like he'd just woken up. Schools must have started announcing closings for tomorrow. "Are you awake?"

"No."

Bern paused in the doorway like he was thinking about going back down the stairs. Nevada sighed and took pity on him, waving him in. He stepped forward far enough to pull the door shut behind him. "Would you be up to taking a job?"

Nevada groaned and put her head against her knees. "I'm guessing it's nobody on this street."

"No," Bern said. The room was dark enough that she couldn't read his face. He stuck his hands into his pockets and took them out again. "It's outside the city. We wouldn't have to be there until tomorrow afternoon."

"What, does somebody want film of their spouse coming into town with another person?" she asked. People sometimes hired them for stuff like that. They knew their spouse was cheating, but they needed proof for the divorce lawyers. It was boring but quick work and would level out the bank account a little. Maybe the storm would die out as quickly as it had blown up and the drive wouldn't even be that bad…

"No," Bern said again. "He wants you to be there when he receives a package."

Nevada stared at him. Wind scraped the side of their house. It was too dark in the room for him to read her face, either, but she narrowed her eyes at him and he shuffled his weight. "Bern," she said, "does _he_ mean Rogan?"

Bern ducked his head, changed his mind, and lifted his chin instead. "He said he'd pay us ten thousand dollars."

Nevada made a choking sound.

\---

"What exactly do you want me to do that's worth ten thousand dollars?"

There was no background noise on the other end of the line. Wherever Rogan was, not much else was going on. She was sitting in The Hut of Evil trying not to drum her nails on Bern's desk. What she really wanted to ask was where he got the nerve, calling her cousin, and had he been doing it since they'd hunted Adam together? But she didn't want him to hang up. Bern was cradling a cup of tea with both hands and watching her from the corner of his eye, ready to start typing if she needed anything.

"Did your cousin tell you what I said?"

Nevada inhaled slowly. It had been nearly six weeks since she'd last spoken to Rogan, and a small part of her was hoping she'd been exaggerating him in her memories. "I'd like to hear it from the source," she said.

"Hmm." Rogan paused, and she strained to hear any clue about what he was doing. "I have a sensitive delivery to accept tomorrow. It would be useful to have someone with your skill set present when the couriers arrive." Another pause, but before she could speak, he added, "Ten thousand dollars seemed a reasonable amount. You would be paid more for similar work if you were using your talent professionally, but I thought you might dismiss me out of hand if I offered any higher."

"Not that you want to save the money or anything," Nevada said, pinching the bridge of her nose. After their last encounter she'd expected his first call to be about something … else … but it would be dangerous to take the man at face value. Not for the first time she wished her magic worked over phone lines.

"The money for something this small wouldn't make a difference to me," Rogan said.

"That's flattering."

"Are you curious about what you could be earning?" Rogan asked. He sounded genuinely interested in the answer. He also sounded like a man who was avoiding the question she'd asked.

Nevada sat up straighter. "Rogan," she said, trying not to acknowledge the small sound of satisfaction he made when she said his name. "When someone offers that much money and doesn't want to give me details about the job, I assume that I'm going to get shot at. Are you meeting up with people who want to shoot you?"

"No."

She rubbed a hand over her face. "Okay. What about attacking you with things other than guns?" Sometimes talking to Rogan required speaking to him like he was a child. Otherwise, he found a way of wriggling around the actual conversation.

"I'm familiar with the couriers and they aren't a match for me," Rogan said. She couldn't hear it, but she _felt_ him shrug over the phone line. "I wouldn't be concerned for your safety if you were there."

"Rogan. Details. Or I'll hang up again."

He let out a small breath. "On behalf of House Richmond I'll be accepting a sensitive delivery in a remote location where we won't be interrupted. I texted Bern the location earlier," he said. Nevada mouthed _location_ at her cousin and he put his tea down to pull it up on screen. It was past the limits of Houston, out in cow country. "I called because assessing the veracity of the couriers would make the process much smoother."

"What could you possibly owe House Richmond for that you would do something like this for them?"

On another screen, Bern began pulling up information about House Richmond. Pictures of the main branch of the family popped up: a man and woman and little girl, all with pale skin and dark hair. An image of a disgustingly sprawling mansion also appeared -- along with several articles about a very public, nasty argument at a recent party. Bern added a few keywords to the search and found that the wife, Calanthe, had subsequently filed for divorce and full custody of the kid, Cora.

"Why do I have to owe them something?" Rogan drawled. She snorted reflexively and he made a small sound she couldn't read without being able to see his face. "Calanthe and I are involved in some business together. She's unable to accept the delivery herself and asked for my assistance. It will be a good thing to have in my pocket in the future."

Nevada looked at her cousin, who had started looking a bit queasy, and back at the screen. There was speculation on some of the message boards that Calanthe's soon-to-be ex-husband Peter was abusive.

"I can't agree to do this without knowing what the delivery is." She still had a bad feeling about this, but ten thousand dollars was ten thousand dollars.

"Calanthe has filed for divorce. The delivery is to help her case in retaining assets during the split."

She stared at the screen for another moment and then took a deep breath. If she came to regret this, Rogan was going to pay. "Five thousand up front and the rest after," she said. "You sign a contract, which Bern will send to you shortly. I bring my own ride. And seriously - do I need to bring a gun, too?"

Bern looked like he wished he'd never answered his phone.

"If it will make you feel better. The money will be in your account in the morning."

"Wait--"

He hung up before she could finish. She scowled at the phone and put it face-down on Berns desk. "What's the forecast look like for tomorrow?"

\---

Miserable.

Nevada had spent the morning scraping icy slush off of their driveway. Part of her knew they were lucky it hadn't solidified, but that wasn't much comfort against the fact that they didn't have a shovel suited to the job. Her arms ached. She had on three pairs of socks and her boots were pinching her toes. Right now, she was sitting in a chair in Grandma Frida's garage. Together, Catalina, Arabella, and Leon had gone out to try to finish the job now that most of the rain had stopped. Her mom was still in bed. The storm was really bothering her leg.

The wind had picked up instead. It was a constant sucking kind of howl now. No matter where she stood in the house it sounded like it was right at her side. The clouds were more black than gray at this point. Enough ice coated the street that even with barely any sunlight making it through the cloud cover, Nevada had to squint against the brightness. The news was warning people to stay off the roads and the mayor had called the governor for aid. The storm seemed to be localized to the Houston area. The kids were enjoying behing home from school, but they also had a fully stocked fridge and pantry at the moment. If she could, Nevada would just go back to bed.

She'd gotten two separate texts from Rogan already. One to confirm receipt of the first five thousand and one to remind her that he could pick her up, if she wasn't sure she could get there.

"I never should have agreed to this," Nevada said. "Do you think it's too late to give the money back?"

Grandma Frida laughed. "You're not going to give the money back." She looked up from where she was perched, on top of an armored SUV she was tweaking for House Montgomery. They'd been unhappy with the initial mechanic's work on the engine and had sent it in looking for smoother handling. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with?"

Nevada crossed her arms over her chest. "No one else is going out in this if I can help it."

"I've got a car you should take."

"Does it have flamethrowers on it?"

Grandma Frida laughed again. She climbed down from the SUV and walked Nevada over to the corner of the garage. It was away from the couple of heat lamps she'd set up, and Nevada drew her coat closer, trying not to shiver. She had on an old cold-weather jacket from her mom's military days and hoped the weather would get better the farther she got from the city. The drop off point was an hour away on a good day, definitely a longer trip in this weather. The longer the day went on the more a knot was building in her stomach. This was a bad idea. Even for ten thousand dollars, this was a bad idea. Probably. Ugh.

They came to a stop next to a very large, olive-colored vehicle. Nevada stared at it, then her grandmother, then back. "Grandma, this is a tank."

"Not legally!"

By the time Bern came to check in, Nevada had manuvered the not-tank to the front of the garage. The girls had finished the end of the driveway, which was now wet but fairly clear of ice. Now they were both shivering and watching trees bend in the wind.

"It's raining - hailing? sleeting? - way less than before," Arabella said. "Like barely drizzling. But the wind is a lot worse."

"I heard once that it can be too cold to snow," Catalina said.

Everyone stared out the window at the driveway.

"Nevada, are you going to freeze to death?"

"I am not going to freeze to death," Nevada said. The back of the not-tank was packed with an emergency kit of heat packs and foil blankets, anyway. She gave her sisters a gentle nudge. "Thank you for working on the driveway. Go on inside and get something hot to drink."

"You'll want to keep your phone against your body," Grandma Frida said. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them. They were a few steps away from the heat lamps, which was just enough distance to start feeling the bite of cold seeping in underneath the garage door again. "The battery will shut down if it gets too cold, and you don't want to pull it out to find it dead."

Bern looked sideways at her. "Whose tank are you borrowing?"

"It's not a tank." Nevada patted the driver's side door. "It's an all-terrain snow and ice extreme rescue vehicle. It's a prototype and it's technically not illegal to drive it on the road." It also couldn't get up to highway speeds, but Nevada was guessing she wouldn't have a lot of competition on the streets today.

"Okay," Bern said. He didn't sound like he thought it was okay, but he didn't press her about her decision to go alone, either. He held up a tablet. "Do you have time?" he asked, and Nevada nodded. She didn't want to leave too early and get stuck in a field alone somewhere -- or without any piece of information Bern felt was important enough to share. "I couldn't find a recent link between Rogan and Calanthe. Her company has done some consulting for new construction his did a couple years ago. She started it before she got married to Peter. It concentrates on energy usage and environmental impacts."

"All right." House Richmond was based out of Austin, so Nevada wasn't familiar with them in the same way she could off-handedly recite basic facts about most of the local Houses.

"Calanthe moved here after filing for divorce. Her maiden name is Floros." Bern paused significantly, and Nevada waited. Rushing Bern was a futile fight. "She used to work for NASA. She's rated as a Prime and after she wore a blue dress to a party last year, the fan boards started calling her Elsa."

Nevada blinked, glanced out at the icescape, and put her head down on the hood of the tank. "God damn it."

\---

"If we freeze to death my family will blame you."

Rogan frowned. Out here, past the boundaries of the city, the poor weather seemed like something she'd dreamed up. The frosted grass under her feet crunched as she walked, but overhead, she caught glimpses of bright blue between gaps in the cloud cover. If someone had spun her in circles and tossed her in the middle of the field without a compass or out of sight of the road, she could have walked in a straight line back to Houston. The sky in that direction was dark and hazy. She had a moment to wonder if the snow was making things look fuzzy from this distance before Rogan spoke and reminded her why she was out in a field in the middle of nowhere when she should be at home in bed.

"It's only thirty-two degrees out here," he said, glancing at his car. It must have a thermometer as part of one of the fancy dash controls. "We're both reasonably dressed and have immediate access to two forms of transportation."

Nevada paused to make a promise to herself that she wouldn't get into his car unless hers was destroyed. She came to a halt at his right -- out of arm's reach. True, he hadn't made any _suggestions_ so far, but she wouldn't put it past him. "Now is the point when you tell me about Calanthe's ice powers and how this job isn't about ending a freaky magical snowstorm."

The corner of Rogan's mouth turned up. "Is that a request?"

Nevada just stood there, staring at him and waiting.

After a moment he shifted his weight to his heels. He turned his attention toward the road, but deigned to speak to her while he did. "The storm isn't completely magical in origin. Calanthe is a Prime, but even she doesn't have that much power." He made a derisive sound like he couldn't imagine what that'd be like. "What likely happened is that she created a localized nexus of cold air and fed it power until it had altered the air and pressure systems above the city. All of which will dissipate in time."

"I realize you don't actually care about this kind of thing, but that's illegal. There have been multiple car accidents already. Calanthe is lucky no one's been killed yet," Nevada said. She crossed her arms over he chest and tucked her hands against her body. There'd been no click of a lie when Rogan spoke, but that didn't mean he'd told a complete story. "You skipped over _why_ she would do this."

"It's why she called in this favor with me," Rogan said. Also not a lie, also not answering her question. "Also, part of why I agreed to help. I would like this storm to cease sooner rather than later."

Cars appeared as black dots down the highway. Nevada inhaled. She would have to hope she had enough information to get through the rest of the job. She had her guns, and Rogan was Rogan, but she'd be happy when she could go home and write herself a note about never accepting a gig like this again 

"How do you want to handle this?" she asked as the cars drew nearer.

"If you had dressed more menacingly, I suppose I could have passed you off as a bodyguard," Rogan mused.

Nevada stared at him. If she'd had sunglasses in her pocket, she would have put them on just to glare at him over the rims.

"Or not." He glanced out at the road before looking back at her. She turned her head away after letting their eyes meet for a moment -- she didn't want him to think she was _scared_ of him, but she also didn't want to get sucked into those blue eyes, either. "I'll ask the questions. You let me know whether the courier is lying."

"Should I flutter my eyelashes?"

Rogan grinned. "Can you?"

"Rogan."

He shrugged, like, _can't blame a guy for trying._ "I would prefer that the couriers not be easily able to identify why you are here, as I imagine would you," he said. "Something small will suffice. Stand at my side and press the toe of your left foot down. Don't actually shift your weight, they'll notice that."

Nevada looked down and tried it -- she knew she was doing it, but the movement only made the barest brushing sound against the frosted ground underneath them. "Are you sure you're going to notice that?"

"I'll notice it."

"I may need to ask follow-up questions."

"I would prefer that you didn't."

She raised both eyebrows, but he didn't elaborate. Before she could protest -- people were capable of half-truths, which he should know -- the cars had turned off the road and begun driving over the field. She pressed her lips together and took a step to rest on Rogan's left-hand side. Her mother had given her two guns, both easily camaflogued by the heavy clothes and layers she was wearing. Last night she'd practiced retrieving them as quickly as possible.

Three large black SUVs pulled into sight. They veered sharply into the field a quarter mile down the road. Nevada looked at Rogan, but if he was surprised by the number of cars, he didn't show it. She clenched her jaw and watched the SUVs approach. Ten thousand dollars could buy a lot. Ten thousand dollars could pay a lot of bills.

When passengers climbed out of each of the SUVs but the drivers remained inside, Nevada wished she'd brought a third gun. Or an actual tank. The three of them walked forward from their cars, but stopped well short of arm's reach.

"Who is this?" the middle passenger asked, glaring at Nevada. He was tall and not broad-shouldered, but he was wearing a shirt that was too small and stretched across his chest anyway. His jacket hung open. Nevada guessed he wasn't confident in being able to draw a weapon if it wasn't tucked just inside the jacket.

Rogan looked down at her and then back at the men, a small smile on his face. "She's good with children, Lawrence."

There was no click in her magic to indicate a lie. Nevada resisted the urge to glare at him. Was he trying to rile these people up?

Lawrence regarded her for another moment before turning all his attention to Rogan. Both of the other men looked away from her, too, and Nevada got the distinct impression she had been dismissed. She moved her eyes over the SUVs without tilting her head. Tinted windows kept her from seeing into the back seats, but each of the drivers' basic shapes were visible. They were all still gripping the steering wheels.

"Did you bring the documents?"

"Yes." Rogan pulled a jump drive out of his pocket. Nevada's magic clicked. Her throat grew tight and she pushed her foot down into the frost, which Rogan pointedly ignored in favor of tossing the jump drive over to the man at Lawrence's left. The man drew a small tablet out of his own jacket and stated fumbling with the jump drive. Rogan sighed. "You do realize I'm not going to let you leave without completing your end of the bargain," he said, mildly.

Lawrence smirked. "We know perfectly well what you're capable of, Rogan."

"If you say so." Rogan looked over his shoulder at one of the SUVs. "Are you going to deliver, or are we all going to stand here waiting for the storm to blow our way?"

The man with the jump drive dropped it. He cursed under his breath and blew on his ungloved hand before reaching down to pick it up out of the frosted grass.

Lawrence gestured to the car behind him, which slowly pulled forward and turned at the same time. There was just enough distance between them for the car to angle its back right door into their sight. Nevada tried to peer in through the glass. Someone tall was seated behind it, but she couldn't make out anything more than that. "I hope that after this we'll all be able to go our separate ways," Lawrence said.

_Click._

Nevada crunched the grass under her foot again, her face as blank as she could keep it while the door opened -- slowly, or maybe it was just that she was concentrating so hard on the cloaked man slithering out from the back seat that it seemed like the moment itself stretched out.

Rogan's left hand clutched her shoulder and pulled her down and back -- like she was moving through molasses -- while his right moved up.

One of the black SUVs jerked forward, metal squealing as it crumpled and the back wheels came off the grass. There was a _thud_ as someone inside hit the windshield and Rogan tilted his hand just so while the SUV smashed onto its nose in front of them. Nevada caught her balance a step behind Rogan when the SUV's windshield shattered. Rogan walked her backwards while gunfire erupted around them, and the SUV _ripped down the center_. Its driver fell out onto the ground. Nevada's shoulder bumped against her not-tank while she tried to resist looking at the driver. The hole did give her space to start shooting. Her gun in her hand, she concentrated on making people duck, since she didn't have a clear line of sight to any of them.

"Please get in," Rogan said, nudging her against the tank. More metal twisted and a seat cushion exploded, shot to so many pieces he just let it drop to the grass. A couple of bullets pinged against the front of the tank. Then flames kicked around the wreck in front of them -- courtesy of whoever was under the cloak.

She shot twice more before yanking the side door open. "You said they wouldn't want to shoot you," she snapped, crawling over into the driver's seat.

Rogan followed behind her almost casually, planting himself in the passenger's side and ripping the hood off the middle SUV to smash between them and the gunmen at the same time. "Do we need to argue about this right now?" he asked her, one hand on the dashboard. "I'm busy."

Scowling, she started the car up and pushed down on the gas, plowing straight forward. Rogan yanked the smashed car parts out of their way. Lawrence and the men at his side still had their guns in their hands as they dove out of the not-tank's way. Fire blasted the windshield and blinded them for a split second. Then Rogan flung the middle SUV to the side so it clipped the cloaked firebug just hard enough to knock him over. They had a clear shot back to the road, and Nevada heard more gunfire land on the back of their car before they got out of shooting range. 

Her front tires had just hit asphalt when Rogan turned around in his seat. She glanced up at the rearview mirror to see the third car apparently just give the fuck up. The wheels popped off and it just fell flat into the grass.

"Head back toward your part of town. They won't be looking for us there," Rogan said, fastening his seat belt.

"What the hell was that?"

"It's going to be easier if they're alive for the moment," he said. "I wanted to leave one car intact enough for the heat to still run while they waited for Richmond to retrieve them."

Nevada reflexively reached forward to turn the heat back on. The car wobbled a bit on the road, though this area of the country didn't look like it had been hit by any of the icy rain. She gripped the steering wheel in both hands and let the car get a few miles down the road. Each time they passed another mile marker she waited for Rogan to say something else. _Nice car,_ maybe. Or _I'm sorry those people tried to shoot us, Nevada._ Or _I'm a big fat liar, and here is the truth, and also, I'm going to double your pay._

They were back on the main highway before either of them spoke again. She pulled into the middle lane. "Do you mind telling me literally anything else about what's going on?"

"What do you want to know?" he asked. His eyes were wide and open and cold, though his tone was as relaxed as it could be. He had sunk down in his seat and splayed his legs just slightly. Nevada reminded herself to look at the road.

"You lied when you told Lawrence that you were handing him the documents."

"I did. You have an excellent poker face, by the way."

 _Don't hit the passenger while you're driving,_ she told herself. "Rogan, let's play a game where you answer implied questions and I don't have to pull your teeth for every other word. Or you can open the door and roll out onto the highway, I don't really care at this point."

Rogan laughed, the sound rich and unfairly hitting Nevada square in the gut. She focused as hard as she could on the road. She had the gas pedal as far down as it was safe on this terrain, and they were eating up distance in a blur, but as soon as they got back to the city and the storm the roads would be icy again. If she didn't keep her head together she was going to end up rolling the tank, and then someone would probably ask her to pay for it. Guilting Rogan into doing so on her behalf wasn't something that would be easy -- even if she told him it counted as one of her expenses for the case. Although this might be one of those expenses too small for him to worry his pretty little head about.

He put his arm up on the window ledge and shook his head. "I never intended to hand the documents over. They track certain expenses that would make Peter look particularly unfavorable at the next meeting of the Richmond board of directors. Calanthe spent several years collecting them, and she didn't even give them to me before we came out here."

"So you were bluffing, and just counting on getting what you wanted before that guy was able to find you out?" Nevada held up one hand before he could speak. "That was a hypothetical question. This is also a hypothetical question, because if you acutally answer I will scream, but how the hell did you justify taking me into a situation where our safety rested on your ability to stall? What were you going to do, snap the jump drive in half and try to convince them they did it?"

Another mile of road whipped past them. The air hitting the car was louder than either of them breathing. Overhead, the sky had begun to darken, and Nevada eased up on the gas accordingly. The first patch of black ice wasn't going to be easy to spot when they were truly back in the cold zone.

"I'm not sure what you're waiting for me to say," Rogan said, finally. He sounded amused. If his expression mirrored the tone of his voice, Nevada didn't want to see it. "Could you imply another question so I know how to move the conversation along?"

"Sure. It must have taken you an awfully long time to come up with whatever brilliant plan you had. You know, the one that didn't go to shit when people started _shooting at us._ "

"I honestly did not think they would shoot," Rogan said, offended. "It was a tactical disaster. In an open space like that, with as much material as I had to work with, they stood no chance of hurting me. They even allowed me to arrive first. I could have easily set down a power circle." He paused and added, thoughtfully, "Lawrence is much less capable than the information I gathered led me to believe."

No apology for the getting shot at part. No apology for not having a contigency plan. She would have even helped him with a circle if he'd asked. She slowed down the car a little more, eyeing the speedometer a little warily. The more annoyed she got, the more prone she was to speeding up again. And there was frost on teh ground now. "I'm so sorry that whoever you talked to him about was overconfident in his abilities," she muttered.

"Yes, I'll have to discuss that with them later." He started to say something else, but his phone rang. "Excuse me."

Nevada took the next exit off the highway. It was too empty, and she had no idea when House Richmond would be able to regroup and start following them. Besides, she knew this neighborhood, and could start winding a messy path through the city even with Rogan making thoughtful and distracting sounds on his phone. The questions he asked were so terse she didn't bother to wonder what he was talking about. It had to be his people calling about the case. Though he did mention to whoever he was talking about that the meeting in the field had been enough for him to plant a bug on Lawrence -- and she counted to ten. The jump drive must have been a listening device. They would have tried to salvage it from the wreckage and wouldn't have thrown it away before getting the chance to test it.

When he hung up, he turned to her. "Do you know what the Leopold is?"

She came to a halt at a stoplight and stared at him. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground here. Tire tracks showed that people in this neighborhood had been less reluctant to come out of their houses than in hers, closer to the center of the storm, but at the moment no one else was out. "It's an abandoned theater infested with a magical swimming pool."

A few years ago, the theater had flooded when multiple pipes malfunctioned at once. And it had stayed flooded. The city had shut off the water from the pipes, and waited, and the building had held onto water knee-deep in the lobby and even deeper in the screening rooms themselves, which dipped down to accommodate all the seats. The city had even gone underground to check the Leopold's drains. They'd found nothing that could have clogged it up. Water mages had visited the place and shrugged.

The theater wasn't going to let go of the water, so that stayed, and the company relocated to an entirely different part of town. Leon thought that this was a cool local story. Nevada just thought it was creepy.

"Excellent." Rogan smiled. "Can you drive there now?"

\---

"I can't fucking believe you."

"I told you that we were retreiving something to help Calanthe in the divorce," Rogan said, blithely.

They'd pulled the tank over a few blocks away from the theater. It stood out a little absurdly in an apartment parking lot full of SUVs. It could maybe have passed, maybe, for a visitor, if it wasn't for the fact that all the other cars were iced into their parking spaces. Nevada had eased the tank over a mound of snow to rest in one empty corner of the lot. She was reloading the gun she'd shot back in the field, and Rogan was watching the direction of the theater.

She'd offered him her second gun, just to see what he'd do. He'd actually sounded offended. That was a reaction she would have to file for later, if they ever got into another situation where she was carrying multiple guns and wanted to piss him off. (This would sound like a bad idea later, but for now, it warmed her cold little heart in the wind that was biting thier faces.)

"A _child_ is not material to argue asset divison," Nevada snapped. He would crush it before it got to him, but she was a little tempted to shoot in his direction just for the hell of it. "The second Calanthe told you Peter had taken Cora and hidden her, you should have called the cops. You should have called Lenora Jordan. She's the DA. She could have SWAT out here."

Rogan turned back to her and frowned. "I don't need help from SWAT."

No click of a lie there. "But you need help from me?" she muttered. She finished with her gun and breathed on it for a moment before tucking it back underneath her clothing. it probably wouldn't make a difference in keeping it warm, but it made her feel better.

"Like I told Lawrence, you are good with children. Cora will probably be scared. Also, it will be easier to extract her if you're handling her while I make sure no one can follow us."

He paused as if waiting for her to make another move. When she didn't, he turned around and started walking toward the Leopold. Nevada rolled her eyes and followed him, walking in his footsteps to make it easier to work her way through the snow. There was enough of it on this block that the wind had made drifts in places. Some spots were nearly bare, and others were knee-deep. It was easiest once they got out of the parking lot. They had to stick close to buildings after that. There was no way to guarantee a stealth approach, but they didn't have to march straight down the center of the road.

If she'd had any time, she might have considered bullying Rogan into calling Augustine Montgomery. Or at least someone with illusion powers who could mask their approach. Someone the SWAT team definitely would have had with them.

Except there was a child at risk, which meant there was no time. Nevada was good at her job. She knew that when one parent hauled a kid off, even when armed security forces weren't involved, it wasn't good. The storm was still making her angry, but it was hard not to feel a pang of sympathy for Calanthe. She couldn't imagine how panicked the woman must be.

Custody disputes between Houses got very nasty, very fast. The state usually stepped in to take the kid away until terms were settled. Nevada had met someone once who worked as a lawyer for minors whose families were going through bitter legal disputes. The woman had told her that back in the old days, couples would flat out duel each other for custody of their children if they split. It was part of why so few Primes divorced, even now. There was too much at risk. You might not die, but you could lose years of -- ugh -- investment in having arranged to have the best heir possible.

Well. Normal people might not die. Normal people were apparently not joined by Peter Richmond.

"You owe me way more than another five thousand dollars," she whispered in Rogan's ear, the next time they were crouched down next to a car. The theater was finally in sight, and Rogan slowed them to a near crawl. Nevada's feet were buried in snow and her legs were starting to pulse painfully from the cold.

He looked over his shoulder at her. "That's not in our contract."

"I put in a line item for pain and suffering," she said. He frowned and she quoted, "If the client takes action to create a substantially different situation than represented at the time of signing, the client will owe additional fees, to be asssed."

Rogan opened his mouth and shut it without speaking.

"Augustine slipped that in recently when he recommended a particularly annoying client to us," Nevada explained. She bared her teeth when she grinned at him. The wind froze them in her mouth and it hurt like hell, but it was worth the glare he gave her. "It's not my fault you didn't read the entire thing before you signed it."

He stared at her for another second, then shook his head. They inched their way forward until they were close enough to the building to see shadows of people on the upper lobby floor. Right. Nevada remembered Leon telling her that when you first went inside, there were stairs and escalators leading up to a lobby, so everyone 'entered' the screening rooms from the second floor. Hence the swimming pool effect in all of the individual rooms. They waited and watched the shadows move back and forth. After a couple of minutes, her legs were buzzing with numbness, and she had couned at least four guards. She stood up as much as she could and hit her thighs with her hands, trying to get blood flowing again.

Rogan turned around, letting his back rest against the flat trunk of the minivan they were hiding behind. "We can't use the front entrance. They likely have Cora in the lobby, because it would be too difficult to patrol the upper seats in one of the screening rooms." He smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll go in through one of the old emergency exits."

"One of the emergency exits at the bottom of magically contained indoor ponds?"

"I'll float us through the water on top of the door itself. You'll just have to hold on very tight, because I won't be able to catch you with my magic if you fall." He paused. "I imagine that the water is extremely cold at this point, so if you do fall, you'll have to get back to the tank as soon as possible to warm up. I'll just have to bring Cora out on my own in that case."

Nevada crossed her arms over her chest. "Pain and suffering, Rogan."

\---

Behind the theater, Rogan had to magically unscrew the hinges of an old door. Nevada kept watch while they stayed flattened against the wall. It doubled as useful and keeping her from watching Rogan work his magic too closely. It was still unnerving to see someone with as much raw power as Rogan wielded exert that much fine control.

Speaking of unnerving. As soon as the door was off its hinges, they were greeted with a wall of water. Nevada flinched reflexively, but it didn't flood out of the theater. It just rippled darkly, catching the weak sunlight and distorting their reflections. Rogan tilted his head to one side and the water parted slowly, making enough space that he could hover the door flat in front of them. Nevada leaned forward past him to peer up into the theater.

The air inside was even colder than what they were standing in. Rogan had pushed the water aside to create a tunnel for them that curved and slowly made its way up to the upper benches of the theater, up to the waterline. The water itself had chunks of ice floating in it at its surface.

He placed a hand on her elbow, making her jump. When she looked back at him he had one eyebrow raised. "I would prefer not to hold this forever. Please, get on," he said, gesturing at the door.

She did, crouching down at the front so she could curl her hands around the edges. The door was metal and icy to the touch. Her fingers had started to burn before Rogan even finished climbing on behind her. In her head, she decided to look into finding thin leather gloves before real winter actually hit -- something that would protect her skin but still leave her able to handle a gun.

"Ready?" Rogan asked. She nodded, and the door launched forward.

Despite all the warnings he'd given she wasn't ready. Her knees fell flat to the metal and her hands slipped softly. She heard Rogan grunt behind her and he slowed their progress a little. Not that they were moving very quickly -- he could only angle them up so far before the danger of falling off was too great. Nevada's heart was pounding in her throat by the time they broke the water line. The instant the door touched down on dry stairs, the aisle of water behind them crashed back together with the louded splash she'd ever heard in her life.

They both held still, neither of them breathing, but neither of the doors at the top of the room opened. They'd chosen to break in through a theater halfway between the end of the building and the lobby. Apparently, they were far enough away for no one to have heard anything.

Rogan followed her to the hallway exit, rubbing his hands together to get the feeling back in his fingers. Nevada pulled her gun and held it low. They were going to have to move fast once they were in the hall. If they didn't spot Cora right away, either, their exit was going to have to be spectacular -- and then she _would_ insist on calling the police.

Cracking the door, she was able to figure out that they only had one guy walking the full length of the hallway. Right then, his back was to him, and he was a few doors down. Rogan took in this information, gently nudged her aside, and blocked her eyeline through the crack. A moment later he straightened and she was able to duck back in and see into the hall.

The guard was gone. So was a bench that had been in the hall. One of the opposite doors was open. Nevada saw all of that and decided not to ask exactly what Rogan had done. Besides -- the clock was on.

Rogan stepped into the hallway first. They managed to get a full ten feet before anyone spotted them.

Nevada was walking narrowly behind him to make herself as small a target as possible, so she didn't see it, but she heard glass in the lobby shattering and men scream at the same time they started shooting. Rogan waved one hand and more doors flew past them, smashing into a shield he could push along with every step they took.

The gunfire stopped short of them after that -- but they had started to run. The first thing the guards would do would be to get Cora out of the building. She heard someone shout and the wind whistling through the broken windows picked up. Glass shards whirled around them. Rogan tried to push them off, but a few cut through her coat, deep enough to gouge her arm.

Fucking wind mages.

Rogan started dissembling their shield as soon as they had made it fully into the lobby -- flinging doors at people hard enough to cut off their screaming. He grunted when a chunk of glass embedded itself in his arm, and Nevada hissed at a cluster of slices to her leg, but then there was another _thud_ of metal and the wind fell back to normal. Nevada wasn't sure if the next guy she stepped over was still breathing, but she didn't have time to check. 

More guns went off but no bullets managed to catch her. Rogan was moving slower now, but his eyes were darting back and forth, and all Nevada could see was his profile from the corner of her eye, the concessions stand in front of them, and a six-year-old girl sitting cross-legged next to a cash register.

Nevada bolted over, lowering her gun and holding out one arm. Cora's eyes were huge and she was trembling so hard it shook Nevada's arm when she scooped her up. "Your mom sent us," she said.

Cora didn't say anything, but wrapped her arms around Nevada.

Rogan practically shoved them down the stairs, driving her forward with a hand on her back. He kept looking over his shoulder. 

By the time they reached the front doors, there was no more sound coming from upstairs.

\---

Calanthe Richmond, nee Flores, had rented a swanky penthouse as her base of operations in Houston. They stepped off the elevator to be greeted by marble flooring, crystal accents, and a tall woman with olive skin and sunken, red eyes. She shrieked when Nevada turned her way and Cora abruptly dropped her grip to hold her arms out to her mother. Calanthe scooped her up so quickly that the abrupt relief of Cora's weight made Nevada stumble.

"Oh, I was so scared," Calanthe said, getting down on her knees and taking her daughter's face in her hands. Cora had started to sniffle, and silent tears were streaming down her face. She'd been silent for the entire car ride over.

That would have been more nervewracking if Nevada hadn't been waiting for House Richmond to drop another mage on them from a helicopter the whole time.

She touched her hand to her arm -- which was bloody, but not bleeding -- and glanced back at Rogan. His eyes had glazed over a little and he wasn't even examining their surroundings. Other people were coming into the room now: one woman who was either a relative or a nanny, from the way Calanthe and Cora reacted, someone outfitted in classic chef clothes bearing a tray of hot cocoa and cookies, several assistants talking on their phones and asking Calanthe questions she largely ignored. Nevada slowly backed up to put space between them all and come to a halt at Rogan's side.

He looked down when she elbowed him. "Do I need to worry about House Richmond firebombing my house?" she murmured.

"No," he said. Her magic didn't click, but she looked up at him skeptically anyway. He shook his head. "It's over, and Peter will know it. House Flores will bring Calanthe and Cora back to Austin. Their arugment will move to the courts."

"Are you telling me that if we hadn't rescued Cora, it would have stayed out of the court?" She watched a woman with a black briefcase walk over and announce herself as a doctor. The cuts in her leg twinged while the mob of people left the room to go back to Cora's bedroom and examine her. Even the chef left.

When they were alone, Rogan leaned up against the wall. He didn't look tired, just bored. "If I had actually handed over the documents, Peter would have shown his face somewhere with Cora. Reassuring her of Cora's safety would have been Calanthe's reward, and she could have returned to Austin then." He half-smiled when Nevada stared at him in shock. "These kinds of disputes are won with decisive action, Nevada. And unless Calanthe wanted to truly shock society and challenge her husband to a duel, she would have had to concede to his desire to retain full custody of Cora."

"What happened to good old-fashioned shared custody?"

"Houes do not share their heirs."

"I want to go home now," Nevada announced. Rogan laughed. "I'm serious. I'm tired, and still pissed at you, and I don't want to learn any more fucked up stuff about how Primes handle this shit."

"If Cora was old enough to have had her magic rated, she would have had a say about which House to go to," Rogan mused, apparently enjoying the simple diversion of working her up. "Although if her talents ended up mirroring her father's more than her mother's, it would have been a point in Peter's favor regardless."

Nevada threw her hands up in the air and stalked back to the elevator, punching the call button. Rogan trailed lazily after her. "I am going home. I am going to clean and bandage all these cuts. And I am going to send you another bill," she told him, keeping her shoulders squared as she stepped into the elevator. This was it: she'd reached her Rogan tolerance level for a twenty-four hour period. He could deal with Calanthe on his own when she came back out.

He rested his hand on the elevator doorframe and ignored the repeated _dings_ it made trying to close. Nevada pressed the button for the lobby three times. Standing this close to her, there was heat radiating off of him, and she was still chilled. She didn't need the temptation. "I'm adding five hundred to your bill for this," she warned him.

A thoughtful look crossed his face. She noticed for the first time that his shirt had been cut up and she wondered briefly if he'd ripped that chunk of glass out of the back of his shoulder. "For holding the elevator? How long do I get before you add another five hundred?"

"Rogan," she said, taking a deep breath. "Unless the next words out of your mouth are _you have to stay to talk to the police,_ I am going home. My arm hurts. I can't put my full weight on my leg. And you lied to me." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "Omitting information is the same as lying. I am done for today. I am going home--"

The elevator _ding_ ed again.

Rogan let his hand drop and surged forward, shoving Nevada against the back wall. She gasped and he closed his mouth over hers while the door slid shut behind them. His tongue was hot. His hands were hot, too, where they slid under her coat and braced against her back so he could pull her flush against his stomach. Nevada tried to place her feet on the floor, but there was a railing running around the edge of the elevator, and Rogan perched her on it, never letting his mouth leave hers.

This was worse than the kiss back in her garage, after the whole catastrophe with Adam. It was worse because it had been so long since she'd seen Rogan that her walls weren't as strong as they should have been. She found herself kissing him back and shivering when he groaned into her mouth.

Distantly, the elevator came to a stop and the lobby appeared behind them. Nevada broke away for air.

"How much are you going to charge me for that?" he murmured in her ear.

She punched his shoulder over a cut in his shirt and he actually winced. "Get off of me," she snapped, trying not to shiver again when he put his cheek on her shoulder instead. He hadn't let her go. He was just holding her, and the elevator door was sliding shut while the woman at the front desk stared at them.

"Are you sure?" he asked. She felt an unfortunately familiar warmth blossom between her thighs and kicked him in the knee, hissing as his magic swept over her stomach. His pupils had gone wide and he nuzzled her neck possessively, hands firmly on her hips as his magic licked over her breasts. "God, you feel good."

She clenched one hand in his hair and yanked his head up. His magic fell away from her, startled, though his face was calm and intent. If anything, he looked _hungry._ It took her a second to catch her breath. The last thing she wanted to do was start squirming against him. (Okay, maybe the last thing she wanted to do was have him know how badly she wanted to squirm right now.) "It's time for both of us to go home, Rogan," she said, her blood pulsing.

"My car was wrecked back in the field," Rogan said. He didn't add that he'd been the one to wreck it. He looked like he was content to stay in the elevator for as long as they could get away with it. He definitely didn't look worried about his car. "You're my ride home."

"For fuck's sake!"

He pressed his hips up against hers, and she gasped again, startled. "Yes?" he asked, eyes sparking.

The doors opened again, but not to the lobby this time. Someone had called the elevator back up to the penthouse without either of them noticing.

Calanthe and one of her assistants just stared at them.

Nevada had to hit Rogan on the shoulder again before he let her go. She was not proud of it, but she hid behind his bulk while they inched back into the penthouse and Calanthe thanked them for rescuing Cora. Her assistant told Rogan that all current matters between House Flores and House Rogan were settled, for the moment, and asked pointedly if there was any other business associated with the event that he needed them for.

"Actually, he could use a ride home," Nevada blurted. Rogan's head swiveled in her direction. The force of his glare would have knocked her to her knees if she'd been willing to meet his eyes. But Calanthe still looked kind of dazed, and it was easy to smile at her. "And he's injured. If he could stay here until your doctor has a moment to check him over…"

"Of course," Calanthe murmured, before Rogan could protest. He shut his mouth with an audible click. She touched his arm and gestured to one of the doorways off the entry of her apartment. "Come sit down."

"I really couldn't."

"I insist. It's the least I could do. Besides, we need to discuss our contracts if my business will be relocating to Austin." Resolution had settled on Calanthe's face. Her voice completely echoed Nevada's mothers whenever one of the kid's friends would come over and get shy about accepting snacks and drinks. Nevada grinned as Calanthe started to pull Rogan back towards the living room. Never underestimate the power of a Southern woman accepting a guest into her home.

Rogan glared at her over his shoulder and mouthed, _Later._

She flipped him off merrily. Next to her, Calanthe's assistant glowered.

In the elevator -- alone this time -- Nevada pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She called Bern, one hand wrapped around the railing while the elevator delivered her back to the lobby. Her skin was still hot, and she didn't want to be tempted to even straighten her clothes where Rogan had mussed them. Bern answered when she was just stepping back into the parking lot. Building maintenance had shoveled and salted, so it was an easy walk to the tank. The sky had already started to clear, black clouds fading to gray and the wind beginning to sweep them past the city, but the air was still freezing. She might as well have stepped into a cold shower.

That was probably for the best.

"Are you okay?" her cousin asked without greeting her.

"Absolutely," she said, as cheerily as she could manage. "Please think of the first number high enough to embarrass you and send Mad Rogan a bill for it."


End file.
